Laziness in the Fertile Valley

by Albert Cossery

  Galal raised his head wearily; he seemed irritated.

  “You want me to talk to a fool! I’ve enough trouble with the mouse.”

  “The mouse!” said old Hafez. “He’s dreaming. What can I do?”

  “There’s nothing to do,” said Serag. “I have to go.”

  “You hear,” said old Hafez. “He’s going to leave. I have no control over this boy!”

  “Let him go,” said Rafik. “He’ll learn about life. It will teach him a lesson.”

  He got up slowly, leaned over and looked between his father’s legs. He wanted to see the hernia. The hernia was there, very noticeable under his nightgown. It was even bigger than he’d hoped. He smiled diabolically and lay down again.

  “I’ll buy you a new suit,” said old Hafez, at the end of his arguments. “Does that please you? You can go to the tailor’s today. What more could you ask for? You see, I do everything to be agreeable.”

  “It’s not a new suit I want,” moaned Serag. “Father, don’t you ever understand?”

  “How do you expect me to understand?” said old Hafez. “Ungrateful child! Do I go out? Do I go to the city? What makes you any better than me? By Allah, I’m sorry I sent you to school! What did they teach you at school, tell me?”

  Uncle Mustapha hadn’t said anything. He didn’t dare speak for fear of giving himself away. Actually, he was the only one who appreciated this departure, who thrilled at this promise of adventure. He, too, wanted to go away, to leave the house and the sleep-filled disorder that was like a nightmare. He gazed at Serag, moved to tears. He would have liked to go with him.

  “My dear Serag,” he said, “if you ever go to the city, don’t forget to go by Emad El Dine Street. That’s where my apartment was.”

  “Your apartment,” said old Hafez. “What has your apartment to do with this?”

  “I’d like him to see it, that’s all,” said Uncle Mustapha.

  “This is impossible,” said old Hafez. “You’re inciting the child to leave with such ideas. Is that how you help me?”

  “He wants to show us he lived in a nice apartment,” said Rafik. “Don’t bother, we’ll take you at your word.”

  “That’s not what I meant, I assure you,” said Uncle Mustapha.

  “Drop this,” said old Hafez. “Haven’t you any pity for your old father?”

  “You’re making us unhappy,” said Uncle Mustapha.

  “I’m not trying to make you unhappy,” said Serag. “I just want to work.”

  “How can we help being unhappy if we know you’re working,” said old Hafez. “We’re not egoists like you. Come, be reasonable. You’re going to make me weep.”

  Old Hafez began to sniffle very effectively. He had decided on this as a last recourse to soften his son. Uncle Mustapha joined him. He had been holding back his tears but now he could let them flow. They had reached the crisis of the drama. No one, after this, could do anything.

  “All right,” said Serag. “I won’t go. Only, I beg you, stop crying.”

  “At last you’re reasonable!” said old Hafez. “You’re a joy to your father. Come kiss me!”

  Serag went up to his father and kissed him on the forehead. He felt miserable and ashamed.

  Old Hales began to call for Hoda in a piercing voice that woke Galal.

  “What’s the matter now? Where are we?”

  “He’s not going,” said Rafik.

  “So much the better,” said Galal. “Then this is over. I can go back to bed.”

  Hoda was waiting anxiously in the kitchen for the result of this family debate. She came running at her master’s call.

  “Come here, girl!” said old Hafez. “You’re to fix a chicken for lunch today. Do you hear?”

  He turned to Serag and said:

  “Serag, my son, don’t worry. We’ll all go see the city some day.”

  “Don’t count on me,” said Galal.

  XII

  There was nothing but those street lamps that flickered in the night, creating, all along the road, large patches of provocative shadow. Each time he reached one of these spaces in the night, Rafik slackened his pace and savored a moment of peace. He had really decided to see her; he didn’t hesitate as he had the last time. The desire he had felt for her was gone, leaving no trace of regret or bitterness. He’d thrown it away as a dead thing. He realized now that this long forgotten desire of the flesh would inevitably have led to an end of his happiness. He no longer wanted anything but the endless joy of sleep.

  He felt lighter, as though moved by a gentle, tranquil power that seemed to have taken possession of him. To have grasped this elemental truth, hidden at the bottom of life — the way of the least effort — filled him with pride and gratitude. He felt as though he were floating in a decaying world that hadn’t yet discovered its true nature. The stupidity of men was boundless. Why did they have to struggle, always vicious and discontented, when the sole wisdom lay in a careless, passive attitude? It was so simple. The least beggar could have understood it!

  When he thought of his fate if he had gone off with Imtissal, Rafik felt a shiver of terror. Today he would have been a slave among other slaves. And for a woman! Because she would have induced him to work — forced him to work with her inane stubbornness and female unscrupulousness.

  It was this woman he was now going to see, to explain his past attitude and his real reason for having left her. He didn’t want to let a misunderstanding based on a pitiful, unhappy love affair go on any longer. She must know the truth. Rafik became more elated as he came nearer Imtissal’s house. This final explanation would relieve him of an enormous pressure that weighed upon his sleep. He must destroy this illusion of love and conclude it with dignity.

  He was feeling more and more buoyant when he heard himself called. He straightened up, made a few hesitant steps then stopped. He turned, suspiciously.

  “I’ve been calling you for ages,” said Mimi. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “No,” said Rafik. “What is this! Are you following me now?”

  “Oh no,” said Mimi. “Believe me. I was just in the house, looking out the window. I saw you go by and ran after you.”

  Mimi was breathless and seemed a little out of his head. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his shirt was open on his chest. His whole appearance betrayed his hurry, and, also, a delirious joy.

  “Why did you run after me?’ said Rafik in a hostile tone. “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” said Mimi, affecting a confidence that exasperated Rafik.

  “Well talk! I’m listening.”

  “May I walk with you?” asked Mimi. “Just for a minute?”

  Rafik hesitated, but the pleasure of humiliating Mimi was too strong. He knew the young man’s passion for his respect, and he had a sudden desire to hurt him. He said, with an edge of malice in his voice:

  “I’m glad to see you. Walk with me if you like.”

  “This is really good luck,” said Mimi. “I was just thinking about you when you went by.”

  Mimi couldn’t quite believe in this happy encounter, for he had dreamed of it for so long. He behaved like an awkward lover, showing off with absurd gestures, and smiling a wonder-struck smile. He hadn’t detected the cold malice in Rafik’s last words and already believed in his success. However, he felt he must act with great discretion, because Rafik, he knew, was always on guard. He mustn’t offend him. While walking beside Rafik in the obscurity of the night, he looked at him constantly. He wanted to be sure of his entire willingness.

  Rafik was walking with an indifferent air. He was aware of all the emotions his presence aroused in his companion, and secretly rejoiced at his uneasiness. He was waiting until he declared himself to deal him a crushing blow. But Mimi didn’t seem to want to talk; happiness had made him mute.

  Now they were crossing the lighted circle beneath a street lamp. Rafik suddenly felt he couldn’t hold back his impatience any longer. He turned toward Mimi and asked:
<
br />   “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Mimi faltered a moment. The brutality of this question had taken him unawares. He seemed to have forgotten everything, thinking only of the joy of being with Rafik. His smile disappeared, and he stammered;

  “I wanted to ask you to come to my house and see my paintings. I must know what you think of them.”

  “Well, you’ve wasted your time!” said Rafik. “I’m not coming to see your pictures. Besides, I don’t know anything about painting. My opinion wouldn’t be any use to you!”

  “That’s not true,” said Mimi. “I know your ability. You’re the only intelligent person in the whole quarter. All the others are asses.”

  “What makes you say that?” said Rafik.

  “I know your philosophy of life,” said Mimi. “It’s magnificent.”

  “It’s astonishing that you know something about my philosophy of life,” said Rafik. “I’ve never confided in you.”

  “I know,” said Mimi. “But I’ve understood all alone. The whole quarter is always saying absurd things about you and your family. I always have to defend you.”

  “That’s very amusing,” said Rafik. “May I know what they say?”

  “They say you’re all idlers,” said Mimi. “And that you’ve sunk to the depths of laziness. They also tell an extraordinary story. It really goes beyond the limits of imagination. I don’t dare tell you. You’ll think I’m an idiot.”

  “What story?” asked Rafik.

  “Well!” said Mimi. “Forgive me, but they say your brother Galal sleeps for months at a time, and that it takes a pair of pliers to open his eyes.”

  “All that’s perfectly true,” said Rafik. “My brother Galal has been sleeping for seven years. He only wakes up to eat.”

  Mimi stopped and looked at Rafik. He suspected a joke, but Rafik’s serious expression made him change his mind. Such a thing was possible then! He was stunned, unable to speak a word.

  Rafik watched him fixedly and waited. It amused him to have aroused this state of foolish astonishment in Mimi. He didn’t move for a moment, his face impassive; then he began to walk on into the night. Mimi followed him silently.

  “Ah! I like that kind!”

  “What kind?”

  “Like your brother Galal. To sleep seven years! What an

  artist!”

  “You think he’s an artist?”

  “Certainly. That’s what I try to explain to the imbeciles in this quarter. They take you for idlers.”

  “But it’s the truth. Why contradict them?”

  “They’re asses, I tell you. They don’t understand the beauty there is in this idleness. You’re an extraordinary family. And you, Rafik, you’re the only intelligent man in the world.”

  “You think so?”

  “I’m never wrong about you. And I’ve never understood why you’ve detested me. Don’t you feel that the two of us could revolutionize this quarter?”

  “Since you understand my philosophy of life, you should know that I don’t like noise and that I’m too fond of my tranquility.”

  “I’m talking about a moral revolution. We could teach these fools, these married men, what real wisdom is. I, with my painting, I express nothingness. It’s a shame you don’t write. But it’s true you’re a living example. That’s enough.”

  Mimi was becoming exalted in talking; he came closer and closer to Rafik, speaking almost into his ear. He did not suspect the trap Rafik was setting for him. He was too happy to discern the least malevolence in Rafik’s affable conversation. His passion had blinded him; he let himself be seduced by his own words, ardently desiring that the road would grow longer and that the night would cover their idyll eternally. However, at moments, he sensed a subtle menace insinuating itself between him and his companion. It was a disagreeable sensation and Mimi forced himself to escape it by brushing against Rafik as if to prove his presence more strongly.

  Rafik, disgusted, pulled away from Mimi, then turned on him with the sudden desire to leap at his throat. But he controlled himself; he didn’t want to give his game away yet. He was still waiting for Mimi to go far enough to destroy him with one blow. There was still time to check him when he became bolder. To tell the truth, he didn’t want to admit to himself that Mimi’s philosophy of life had aroused his curiosity. He had forgotten his mission and thought no more of Imtissal. He asked:

  “And how do you express nothingness?”

  “I paint the canvas in one color,” said Mimi. “Some of them are black, some red, some green. It depends on my mood. The important thing is that they represent nothing.”

  “In short it’s nothing colored,” said Rafik.

  “Exactly,” said Mimi, “You’ve understood me perfectly. I knew that you would. We’re made to understand each other.”

  Mimi was ravished by this interest Rafik seemed to take in his painting. He thought he was living in a dream. Never had Rafik been so agreeable or so understanding. He forgot all his past injuries, walking with his eyes on the sky, smiling at the stars. He stumbled against a stone, almost fell and caught Rafik’s arm. Rafik gave him a look full of hatred.

  “I forbid you to touch me. I don’t like your ways.”

  “Don’t be angry. I didn’t do it on purpose. Listen. You must know that no one has ever seen my canvases. You’ll be the first to see them.”

  “Thank you for the honor.”

  “Oh! Don’t thank me. It’s a great joy for me. I can’t wait to know what you think of them.”

  Rafik stopped, crossed his arms and looked hard at Mimi.

  “It’s no use. I’m not coining to see your canvases.”

  Mimi shook his head in astonishment.

  “Why? What have I done? You were so nice just now.”

  “You really thought I was being nice?” sneered Rafik. “Well, my dear Mimi, you were a fool to believe it! I don’t like your ways. You’re a phony. You’re not even an invert.”

  “Me?” said Mimi, mortally offended. “I’m not an invert? You don’t know me. You don’t know what I can do.”

  “I don’t want to know,” said Rafik.

  He had just struck Mimi at the heart of his pride, and he was overjoyed. Now he was finished with him. He only had to get rid of him. He walked on, hurrying.

  Mimi seemed to have collapsed. It was as though Rafik’s words had struck him fatally. He remained without moving for a long time, standing by the side of the road. He hadn’t expected this supreme insult. No injury could have wounded him so deeply as this denial of his abnormality. All his artistic vanity expressed itself in the display of his inversion. For Rafik to deny this! He couldn’t bear it. Suddenly he realized he was alone and an overwhelming terror seized him. He began to run after Rafik, uttering loud cries. But he couldn’t catch him.

  XIII

  She was weary now; all afternoon a gang of college students had played truant in her room. They did this often, at least twice a week. While their parents believed them away at school, they came to her room and gave themselves up to a kind of little orgy. They brought with them a bottle of whiskey and some cigarettes, made a lot of noise and caroused like madmen. Then they went stumbling away with dark circles under their eyes, overjoyed at believing themselves already men. Imtissal loved these riotous gatherings and the tender promiscuity of youth made bold and feverish by her nakedness. They made love by turns and behaved as if it were a question of sportive competition. Afterwards, each bragged before his comrades of his own prowess. The victor of the day was known all over the quarter, but his glory did not last for long. It was quickly eclipsed by other more glittering virilities.

  This amorous emulation intoxicated Imtissal and created around her the legend of a femme fatale. All the adolescents of the quarter wanted to convince themselves of their erotic acumen,

  and so her room was never empty. However, at the end of the day, Imtissal was tired and didn’t know where to go to relax or to get a change of air. Before the child was born,
she often went to the movies. The vulgar sentimentality of the stories which unrolled before her eyes was a comfort and made her forget her own life. This pleasure was now forbidden her; she could not leave the infant alone. She was suffocating in her room and her existence began to seem wretched to her, bound up in distress and loneliness.

  She went over to the cradle and watched the baby sleeping. It was strange the way he slept all the time. Even the coming and going of her clients did not seem to disturb him. Sometimes, Imtissal thought he was dead. She had to lean down close over him to hear his thin, fragile breathing. For a long moment she stood by the cradle and watched. Then, she went to her bed, stretched herself out on it and sank down into her thoughts.

  It happened now that she often thought of Rafik, but this was only to delight in imagining him tortured and restless. The marriage of old Hafez seemed to her like a divine vengeance. She could not think without a malevolent pleasure of this grotesque event which was going to ruin the life of her former lover. She had never forgiven him for leaving her, for giving in to his father. For a long time she had wished the worst afflictions on him. And now her desire was going to be realized by an unforeseen event. From now on Rafik would be enclosed in a circle of torments that would make him dizzy. Imtissal already knew through Hoda that the young man could no longer sleep, and that he was contriving by all possible means to prevent his father’s marriage. She was eager to know all the details of this scabrous affair. She was waiting for the next visit of Hoda, who had promised to bring her news of the latest developments. Rafik’s discomforts had become the only distraction that brightened her imprisonment.

  Someone knocked on the door. She got up from the bed and went to open it. In the obscurity of the landing she couldn’t make out the face of her visitor. She thought he was one of her clients and said mechanically:

  “Come in.”

  “It’s me,” said Rafik. He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

  Imtissal uttered a cry and thrust out her hands as if to repel the apparition of a ghost. She drew back to the bed, lowered her hands, and remained stunned for several minutes. She could not bring herself to realize that Rafik was in her room. Then she recovered and started to overwhelm him with abuse.